So Easy To Forget
by Dame Flame
Summary: (Sequel to "Gain Control Again). Slowly, he's regaining his memories. But there's something from his past that could change his life forever, and those around him.
1. Chapter One

Title- Easy To Forget

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for now. It could change.

Disclaimer- We don't own it. Simple as that. We don't make any money, either.

Author's Notes- This is the sequel to _Gain Control Again_. If you haven't read that story, we don't suggest reading this. The title, and lyrics below, are from the Blue Rodeo song, _5 Will Get You Six_, from the album, _Outskirts_. pepsicolagurl (Julia) picks the titles for these stories, and she has a thing for Blue Rodeo. That's a Canadian for you. This basically picks up where GCA finished. And still, not a 'shipper story. If there is one, we figure that it'll be the next story. The original story just spawned way too many ideas for us. As for the hypnosis part, trying to do research on the 'net isn't the easiest, and when you have encyclopedias from the sixties...well, that and it's been a long time since pepsicolagurl was hypnotized, and trust me, she does an awesome Michael Jackson impression when she is, crotch grab and all. Anyway, enjoy and let us know what you think!

WARNING- This story is going to be a little darker than the previous one, and there will be some things that may turn your stomach a little. The chapters will be clearly labeled if there if offensive material in them, and the rating will be automatically changed, but we thought that you should be forewarned. If there is something offensive, it'll be labeled much like this one is, with capital letters and all.

* * *

Easy To Forget  
Chapter One

_Insurrections acts just like a prayer  
__Bad intentions, collar turned against the wind  
__It's such a simple twist  
__You just flick the switch  
__It's so easy to forget a life like this  
__A life like this_

* * *

God, he looked like a young boy.

Horatio Caine couldn't help the thought as he looked towards the young man sitting on the couch. His hands were clasped together and tucked between his knees, feet tapping out a beat on the carpeted floor. He frowned for a moment, trying to figure out if it were an actual beat or a random tapping, unable to decide. The man's shoulders were hunched, and he was leaning over, a look of apprehension on his clean shaven face.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" a voice asked, making both of them look up in surprise. They had both been lost in their own thoughts.

Timothy Speedle took a deep breath, looking towards the psychiatrist, his head bobbing up and down. "Yeah, I'm ready. It's just...if this gives me the answers that I'm looking for, I want this to be over and done with." He bit his lip and looked back down. "I want to remember," he said in a low voice, sending a quick and embarrassed look towards Horatio. "I know that this is a stupid question, but...is it going to hurt?"

"There's a good chance," the doctor answered frankly. They both looked at him like he was crazy. "If we're successful, and we bring back some of your memories, or all of them, there's a good chance that some of them will hurt you, emotionally. It'll be like you're living through all those moments again, and all at once. Physically, you'll feel fine. When I bring you out of it, you'll feel relaxed, and you'll sleep better tonight. You're still not sleeping well, are you?" he asked, taking in the dark circles under Speedle's eyes.

He shook his head, cheeks flushing somewhat. He didn't like all of the attention, but he knew that there was no way around that. He had worked hard in his sessions with the psychiatrist to get to this point, and he just wanted it to be over already. He wanted to know his life, know who he had been before, not just what everyone told him.

"Where do I come in?" Horatio asked, shifting in his chair.

"You were there during the shooting. That's the memory that's causing the repression. If we can get him to remember that day, he may remember the rest of his life. He'll run through the events under the hypnosis, and you're the only person that knows what happened that day. Most likely, Timothy will say what he said that afternoon, and he'll expect to hear your voice answering him. Of course, he may not, but it's better to have you here, just in case." He turned back to Speedle. "Any other questions before we begin?"

He shrugged, swallowing audibly. "What...what if this doesn't work, and I don't remember?"

"We've discussed this before, Timothy. There's a fifty-fifty chance that you'll never remember everything, but you've made such progress that I don't think that will happen. Even if we only bring back the memory from the day you were shot, we've made progress. You know that." They exchanged slow nods.

He smiled nervously. "All right, then. Let's do this."

The doctor smiled briefly. "Get yourself comfortable, Timothy. Sit up, lay down, it doesn't matter. Just get comfortable." They both watched as he shifted in his seat for a moment, before he leaned back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Keep your eyes closed, and don't think about what you're about to do. Just relax. You know what to do."

Speedle nodded, concentrating on controlling his breathing. He had been taught the relaxation techniques two weeks before, to prepare him for the day that he was finally put under hypnosis. It was a form of self-hypnosis that he had become well-accomplished at. Before long, he felt as comfortable as he was going to be, the tension drained out of his shoulders, loosening his taut muscles.

"Open your eyes," he was instructed quietly. When he did, he noticed that the lights in the room had been turned off, and all that was left was a single lamp shining on a nearby table. It was just enough light to see everyone, and cause everything else to be cast in shadows. "Now, keep your eyes on the pen. Don't move your eyes from it." Almost serenely, his eyes slid over to where the fountain pen was being held up, and he focused on it, looking at the gold clip that was sparkling in the dim light.

He didn't know how long he had remained looking at the pen, but he knew when it was put down, and he heard the doctor's voice when he spoke next. "What's your full name?"

"Timothy Richard Speedle," he answered. A part of his mind told him that he could refuse to answer if he wanted, treating the entire incident as if it were an experiment, but when he tried not to answer, he did anyway. Somewhat interesting, he thought.

"And how old are you?"

This answer came just as quickly. "Thirty two."

"Close your eyes, Timothy." He responded, his eyes sliding shut slowly, almost languidly. "You were recently shot."

"Yes."

"Do you remember the day that it happened?" Speedle frowned, rather than answered. Horatio shifted in his chair, sitting on the edge of it, as he examined the younger man's face. His brow was furrowed deeply, lips pressed together tightly. He shook his head but didn't say anything. "Timothy, do you remember what happened the day you were shot, back in June of this year?"

The room was silent, the two men staring at Speedle, waiting to see what he was going to say. For a moment, he sat there, clasping his hands together until his fingers turned white. "Yes." His voice was shaky, and it was rough, but it was there. "I remember."

"Where did the shooting take place?" the doctor asked next, looking down at a pad of paper on his lap, where he had written down all the pertinent questions he was going to have to ask.

"McCauley's. A jewelry store. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, some kind of movement." His voice had changed into that detached tone that he had used whenever he was studying or speaking about evidence. Horatio could only shake his head. "I pulled my gun, and aimed, and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. I...it hurts."

Horatio frowned. He had been told by the psychiatrist the day before that if he were to relive the shooting, the emotions would be the same. He didn't know if he was prepared to hear it all, see the look of pain written on the young man's face, but his voice didn't sound the least bit like it had that day. It sounded wondering...and young. Higher than his normal voice. And he knew then that something was wrong. Something was very wrong. "What happened next, Timothy?" the doctor asked.

No, he had to stop this, Horatio realized. There was just something so wrong about this whole thing, and even though he couldn't put his finger on it, he knew that it had to be stopped. But he couldn't open his mouth and say something. He didn't want to confuse Speedle while he was under hypnosis, but he had to let the psychiatrist know. Before he could, Speedle's next words, sounding something like a roar, made them both jump.

"Don't you dare! Don't touch me!"

He looked agitated. The color had drained from his face, making him look pasty white, and his eyes, which had opened again, were wide with fear and something akin to hatred. He began muttering to himself, rocking back and forth on the couch. His hands forced themselves into fists, which he bounced slowly off of his thighs.

The psychiatrist reacted quickly, and instructed Speedle to close his eyes again, calming him down before bringing him out of the hypnosis. Horatio was on the edge of his seat as Speedle let out a long sigh and opened his eyes, raising a hand to wipe at the sweat that had begun to accumulate on his forehead. "All right, Timothy, what do you remember?"

He frowned. "I remember some of what happened that day," he started, shaking his head. "Did...did I tell you not to touch me?" he asked suddenly, confusion written plainly in his eyes as he directed his gaze towards Horatio.

"No, you never said anything like that," he answered him.

"I don't know where that came from. I've never...I remember some things, but not everything. Can we do it again?"

The psychiatrist shook his head, making a note on his pad before standing up. "No. Not for awhile. I think we need to make some more progress before we try something like that again. It may have been too soon. The shooting isn't the only memory you've repressed in your life, and until we have some idea of what it could be...I don't want to chance it. But we'll try again, soon enough."

But Speedle really didn't want to wait. That was the problem. He could only shake his head through the rest of the conversation, which frankly, he didn't bother to keep track of. He let Horatio lead him out of the office and back down to the parking garage. "Are you going to be okay to drive home?" Horatio asked him, eyeing the man curiously. He had never seen a show of emotion from him like that before, and it unnerved him somewhat.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I just...it helped, you know? I'm starting to remember more, little by little. I know that it wasn't the first time that I was shot at. There was another time, but you were there. I remember sitting in the back of an ambulance, and getting more and more pissed off with every second that they took to check me out." He grinned somewhat. "I wasn't the friendliest person in the world, I take it."

"No, not always."

He nodded, the grin turning into a wry smile. Shades of his old personality coming through again. "Yeah, well...I'm just going to head home. Grab something to eat, get some sleep. He said I would sleep better. That's always a plus."

But he didn't know how wrong those words were.


	2. Chapter Two

Title- So Easy To Forget

Authors- Dame Flame and pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language, but there's a good chance that it could change.

Disclaimer- See Chapter One.

Author's Notes- (from Dame Flame) Sorry about the delay, everyone! Sickness, fights, and other stories interupted this one. We'll try not to let it happen too often, but honestly, this story is one where we have to proceed delicately with the plot. And I also mis-named the story. Enjoy and let us know what you think.

**Talifiney**- It's not so much that we're worried about pleasing people by not making this a 'shipper fiction. We both agree that we write what we write, and we write how we write. pepsicolagurl seems to be the 'shipper out of the two of us (judging by her other CSI: Miami stories), but these ideas come from her head, and there's only one way that you can explain them: she's a sick and twisted person, or at least, she is when it comes to writing. She came up with the plot for both of the stories, and we both agree that while we would like to collaborate on a 'shipper fiction one day (if we can ever stop arguing about it), this story just doesn't need it. It's not something that would help the plot, or the world that she's created and generously allowed me access to. Different strokes for different folks, I guess (great, now that I said that, she's probably planning to write me another wrestling piece of smut, just to tick me off).

**Mac3**- Thanks for your kind words, over and over again. As always, your review brought a smile to both of our faces. And don't worry, everything will be explained in due time.

**melles** and **chaser1**- Your wishes (demands?) are our command.

* * *

So Easy To Forget  
Chapter Two

_Insurrection acts just like a prayer  
__Bad intentions, collar turned against the wind  
__It's such a simple twist  
__You just flick the switch  
__It's so easy to forget a life like this  
__A life like this_

* * *

He rolled onto his side, the motion causing the last blanket to slip off of his body as he turned his eyes towards the alarm clock. He wasn't sure how often he had checked it, but he knew that every time he did, there was only twenty or thirty minutes difference every time. The psychiatrist had been right, at least at first. He had slept well for awhile. Then the dreams had come again. 

He thought that he would be used to them by now. They were always the same. Wherever the dream took place, it was dark, and filled with twisting corridors. He ran as if his life depended on it, his heart pounding, breathing erratic, his hands clenched so tight into fists that his short clipped nails dug into his palms. He would find some dark corner to tuck himself in, folding his body into a small ball, and he would whisper the same thing over and over. This was the first morning that he could recall the words, however, or at least, a part of them.

_(holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death, amen)_

With a frown, he kicked his feet free from the tangled blankets at the end of the bed and swung his feet around to the floor, standing up. He wasn't going to get any more sleep that day, he knew that. He had laid awake for the last three and a half hours. Speedle rubbed his eyes before moving out of the bedroom and walking down into the kitchen, starting the pot of coffee that he had set up the night before.

Despite the events of the day before, and the sleepless night, his morning went as normal as it always did. It had become a routine for him, the same thing every morning. He started coffee, went out to get the newspaper from the front yard, where the paperboy always threw it. Once he was back inside, he cut a bagel in half and threw it into the toaster, before jumping in surprise when the phone rang. "Good morning, Calleigh," he said as soon as he picked it up.

The woman on the other end of the line laughed. "How did you know it was me?"

"Because you call me at the same time, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. You know my schedule better than I do." He reached onto the counter for the package of cigarettes that he had left there the night before, sticking one between his lips and lighting it. "On your way to work?"

"And stuck in traffic. I just wanted to know how yesterday went. Horatio would never tell me, you know that, so I decided to get the news from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

He nodded, pulling the ash tray closer to him. "Well, whatever he did to me, it helped. It was sort of like a catalyst, you know? I'm remembering more and more every minute. Stupid stuff, mainly, but I'm still remembering. A lot of stuff about when I was a kid, but not everything. It's getting better, but it's not great yet," he added cautiously.

"That's good, though," she broke in, her voice overly cheerful. No matter how his day went, no matter how his psychiatry sessions went, Calleigh Duquense always managed to look on the bright side of him, or at least try to make him see it. It was something that he admired about her, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had been like that around him before the whole incident had occurred. "I hope whatever you remember about me is all good, of course."

"A lot of work stuff is coming back to me. I keep thinking about these awfully long nights in the lab, doing something tedious. I've been told that it was something I did a lot there."

She laughed. "Something like that. I'm glad you're doing better, Tim. Ever since we knew that you were back, it hasn't been the same in the lab without you. Everyone's waiting for the day that you come back. Have...have you heard anything about that lately, or is it something that's still up in the air?"

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, tapping the ash off. "Believe it or not, they're going to make me do somewhat of a written test. They're worried that while I may remember certain things, there'll be things that I won't know, so they're going to run me through some sort of gauntlet. I suppose it makes sense, but I'd rather not have to go through something like that. I think...I think I remember a majority of what I did before, work wise. And I've been going through all the material that you guys have given me. They said that I could go in there whenever I was ready, but I think I'm going to wait a little bit. You know, work through it, see what I really want to do."

"You are going to come back, aren't you?" she asked suddenly. It was a question that everyone had avoided for awhile.

"To tell you the truth, I just don't know yet. I know that everyone expects me to, especially since I've been getting my memories back, but I don't know if I'm cut out for that sort of work anymore. I just...there's a lot that I have to work through yet. A lot of unanswered questions for me, and I'd rather have them all answered before I jump into something like this. Kind of like checking the depth before I dive, you know?"

She was silent for awhile. "Yeah, I understand. It makes sense. Look, I'm almost at work, so I better let you go. Talk to you soon, Tim."

"You, too."

* * *

The frown was still on her face as she walked into the break room, walking straight up to the tall redhead. "Okay, what the hell happened yesterday?" she asked, watching as he turned his head to look at her, a curious expression in his eyes. "I just got off the phone with Tim, and something must have happened yesterday, because he certainly didn't sound like himself...or the person he is now, anyway." 

"I don't understand," he said quietly, reaching for the coffee pot to pour himself a cup.

"He just basically told me that he isn't sure whether he's coming back here or not. The other day when I talked to him, he wanted to know if I could bring him more copies of some forensic journals, and now he's not coming back? What the hell happened? He remembered the shooting, I understand that, but...I just don't get it."

He replaced the coffee pot and shook his head slowly. "I never heard a word about this yesterday, Calleigh. He never said a word about it. He never said much of anything, actually."

Her temper cooled somewhat when she saw his confusion, but it didn't completely disappear. "But something happened, didn't it? he seemed almost hesitant to tell me something."

With a sigh that was uncharacteristic of Horatio, he turned so that his back was facing the coffee pot, leaning against the counter. "Something DID happen, but no one knows what it was. He had a bad reaction to something, and the doctor said that he has a different repressed memory, something that's causing him not to remember this. I don't think it was so much the shooting, but the shooting gave him a reason to forget whatever it was he wanted to forget. Something in his past."

"You've been talking to Alexx again," she said softly. "From what's he's remembered, I know that he hadn't had the best time growing up, but it wasn't like anything earth-shattering happened to him. I know that much. I've talked to his parents before, and they haven't told me anything like that." It was as if a thought had dawned on her, her eyes brightening with the sudden idea. "They don't know what it is, do they?"

"I don't know enough to even hazard a guess," he told her, pursing his lips as he reached behind himself blindly for his mug of coffee. "The evidence, Calleigh. Where's the evidence?"

"Wouldn't his behavior be enough evidence for you? It is for me," she shot back, lifting her chin defiantly. "This isn't the Speed we used to know, and this isn't the Tim that we're getting to know. And I don't like the way this is going. I just have a bad feeling about this, Horatio."

A smile twitched on his face briefly as he looked over the rim of his mug at her, eyes twinkling. "I've always told you to follow your instincts, Calleigh. What's stopping you this time?"

"I'm afraid of what I might find out."


End file.
